Resident Evil
by Meteoric Tree
Summary: John returns to his family after surviving a five year long nightmare. As he prepares to beg for their forgiveness, John reflects on several ironic memories from his childhood that now strike close to home.


Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds or Resident Evil.

Potential Spoiler Warning: It is possible to deduce the events which take place at the end of Resident Evil 4 from the dialogue in this story's flashbacks.

Resident Evil

Resident: (adj) 1. dwelling in a particular place; 2. inherently present

Evil: (noun) 1. the quality of being morally bad or wrong; 2. a malicious force, power, or personification

John hesitated after stepping out of his boat and onto the dock of Tracy Island. He eyed the path leading to his old home with trepidation. It had been . . . five years since he'd last been here. Five long, nerve-wracking, painful years of looking over his shoulder, running from monsters (and worse), hunting down mad scientists, hiding his identity, breaking laws, and doing everything he could to keep himself and his friends alive as they tried to take down GeneTech – the most terrifying organization of mad scientists ever to exist.

It had been harrowing. Since the day he first became involved nothing had been the same in John's life – not that he'd ever had a very normal standard to follow. He had changed though. For the worse in many ways. For the better in a few . . . perhaps.

But now the nightmare was over. John himself, and several of his survivor buddies had finally tracked down the last of the scientists who'd been responsible for the horrors that had claimed the lives of thousands. And just like that, the war was over. They could go back to their lives, or what was left of them. Back to their families without worrying that they were putting their loved ones at risk. Not that John would have put the Tracy family at risk if he had returned before now. Even if his family hadn't been too rich and powerful to go after in an attempt to get to him, John was one of the few people whose background GeneTech couldn't trace. Everyone – his family included – thought that John Tracy was dead. They thought he'd died in Metropolis Valley during GeneTech's bio-weapon test. For five years he had been using the surname "Smith." Not the most original name and GeneTech always _had_ believed it was an alias, but that was part of its appeal. John smiled remembering how one of their sources had reported GeneTech's annoyance at having such a generic name as "John Smith" at the very top of their red list.

His smile melted as he began walking up the path to the Tracy Villa. John had no idea how his father and his brothers would react to him suddenly stepping back into their lives – or trying to at least. They had not parted on good terms before the disasters in Metropolis. His father and brothers had all been so furious with him when he left – they hadn't understood that after their last brush with the Hood John had needed his space. In all fairness though, John now saw that his own actions had been less than understanding as well. Making an on the spot decision that he was taking indefinite leave from International Rescue had not been one of the most rational things John had done in his life. He felt so stupid thinking about it now. He should have requested leave for a month . . . maybe two . . . and then extended it if he needed to. He should have kept his head . . . but he hadn't.

He had stormed off of Tracy Island, running away from the people who loved him the most in the world, and proceeded to get himself mixed up in a sick biological weapons test that decimated an entire city and made the classic Resident Evil games look like a joke. The outside world had been ignorant of what was afoot in Metropolis until it was too late. Communications had been jammed over the entire valley. The last that his father and brothers ever heard of him was the morning before everything went to hell. He'd had a conversation with the entire family . . . and it had not gone as well as John would have liked for it to. In fact, it ended with Scott screaming "I never want to see you again!" and turning off the phone.

Six hours later, communications were out in Metropolis Valley. Two hours after that, only a fraction of the city's population was still alive. The rest had been infected with bacteria that turned them into mindless zombies, very much reminiscent of Night of the Living Dead. As night fell it became an all out battle for survival against overwhelming odds. John had banded together with a number of other uninfected individuals, and fought his way to the heart of the city and into GeneTech's underground facilities. With his advanced knowledge of technology and hacking, John had been able to not only override the lock down system that turned the entire city into a deathtrap, but had been able to broadcast incriminating evidence against GeneTech to authorities all over the world. Then he and his new friends escaped, after setting the city to self destruct and kill every dead man still walking in the valley.

After that they'd gone underground – and become the Underground. They went into hiding and worked to track down the rest of the scientists who'd been on GeneTech's payroll. It was dangerous work. Many of the Metropolis survivors were killed in the process. John had survived . . . but he didn't know if that made him one of the lucky ones or not. The things he had seen . . . the things he'd done . . . John had come to terms with his actions, but he was no longer the person he used to be. He'd needed to change to survive after such a traumatic experience. And so he had. He'd found the strength to challenge the most horrific corporation ever to exist, but John had had to sever all links to his past to be able to do so.

He had never called his family to let them know he was still alive. John knew that he should have but . . . if they had turned him away that would have been the end of it for him. After everything he'd been through he needed to know that if his family wasn't behind him at the moment, that they might be if they knew that he was alive. He couldn't have lived without the hope that someday he would be able to make amends with his brothers. And he couldn't afford to lose it until GeneTech was completely finished. There was too much at stake and too many people had been depending on him.

But now GeneTech was gone and he had no excuse not to reestablish contact with his family. John only hoped that they would forgive him. He was terrified that they wouldn't. It was almost funny, but he was more scared walking up to his father's front door than he'd been storming into any of GeneTech's bases or labs. John had to force himself to continue moving forward.

A brightly colored bird took flight from the underbrush, startling John. He was down on one knee, making himself a smaller target, his hand gripping the handle of his Glock before he realized what it was. John managed to keep himself from drawing the gun – but barely.

_Just a bird,_ John thought, standing slowly. _Just a stupid bird. There are no genetic monsters here, no mad scientists or GeneTech security forces, no zombies. This is – or was – home. If nothing else, Tracy Island is safe. Safe . . . I just need to see my family . . . See if I still have a family. God, I can't do this!_

John stopped walking and clenched his fists.

"I can't do this," he whispered. "I can't . . ."

It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. He was John "Smith" Tracy, Metropolis Valley survivor, leader of the Underground, GeneTech's most wanted man, former member of International Rescue . . . and he was too afraid to walk up to his own front door.

_I have to do this_.

John unclenched his fists and took another step. Then another.

The sun was starting to dip below the horizon. It would be about dinner time, if things were still on the same schedule that they'd always been. With TB5 out of commission, as it had been since the Hood's attack so long ago, the whole family would be together in one room. John had wanted it that way. He needed to see them – all of them – in the flesh. Even if they screamed at him and turned him away, he just needed to see them.

Oh God, what if they did turn him away. What if they were still mad at him? Or if they were just mad at him in general? There was a whole new string of things for them to be angry about.

_I just need to see them, _John told himself_. And I need to tell them that I'm sorry. They have every right to be angry and withhold their forgiveness, but I just need to see them! _

John stopped walking abruptly. He had reached the villa's main door. With a shaking hand he reached for the doorknob. Then he froze. Bad idea, he realized. He had no right to just barge into his father's house. He didn't live here anymore.

"Doorbell then," John whispered and lifted his hand. He rested his finger against the button for a moment, trying to will up enough nerve to press it.

_It shouldn't be this hard!_ John thought wildly. After everything he'd been through, after everything he'd done. This should have been nothing! He stared at the back of his hand and the myriad of scars covering it. There was a huge raised gash in the center of it, from the time John had stopped one of GeneTech's security guards from cutting his throat by catching the guard's knife in his palm and letting the blade transfix his hand. The tip of his ring finger had been shorn away – shot off, actually – just below where his cuticle once was. His first two knuckles were marked terribly by old burn scars. So many painful little injuries he'd collected since the last time he was here.

John forced himself to think about the more serious injuries he'd amassed in the Underground. The huge mass of scar tissue on his neck, for starters. The shattered kneecap that he'd had replaced. Assorted bullet wounds and broken bones. Things that had John chewing on painkillers for months. What could his family's anger possibly be compared to all of those? It couldn't possibly hurt worse than the time Andre had driven that hummer into him . . .

That was a lie, of course, but it was almost believable. John took a deep breath and pushed the button.

_"What is it?" Eight-year-old John Tracy stared intently at the device they had unearthed from amidst the piles of junk in their grandparents' attic._

_Scott ran one hand over the whatever it was's black surface, his hand brushing away decades of dust. "I don't know. Some kind of machine."_

_"Whatever it is, it's really old."_

_"Probably broken too. This is boring. Let's go play outside," said Virgil._

_"I wonder if we could get it working again . . . whatever it is," Scott mused._

_"I think there's something written on the top!" John said, suddenly excited. "Look there!" He began helping his big brother brush away the dust._

_"What does it say?" Virgil wanted to know._

_Scott and John were silent for a moment._

_"PSZ," Scott said finally._

_"Pasaz?"_

_"I think that maybe the Z is a 2," said John. _

_"Maybe. What do you think it does?" Scott asked._

_"Who cares. It's just a boring old machine," Virgil grumbled._

_"Let's try to use it," John said, his eyes lighting up. "If it's broken maybe we can fix it."_

_"Boring!" declared Virgil. "I'm going to play outside with Gordie."_

_"That's right! Go and play with the baby!" jeered Scott. "Baby!"_

_"I'm not a baby!" snapped Virgil._

_"Cry baby, cry baby!" John joined in the taunting._

_Virgil's tiny face grew red and he screamed and fled the attic, kicking over a box on his way out. "Am not! Am not!"_

_"Hey, look at this." John lifted one of the items that fell out of the box and showed it to Scott. It was a case of some sort with a scary looking man on the cover._

_"Cool," Scott said, reading the words blazoned on it. "Resident Evil."_

_"There are more of them," said John, picking up others. "Some of them have PS2 written on them. Do you think they go with that?'_

_Scott looked thoughtful and started to speak, but was interrupted by John sneezing three times in a row. "Dusty up here," he said, patting John on the back. "Let's take this stuff downstairs and see if we can figure out how to use it where you can breathe."_

"Scott. Supper's ready," said Alan, leaning on the door jam.

Scott looked groggily up at his youngest brother from his place on the sofa. "What's for dinner?"

Alan shrugged and started to turn away as his oldest brother sat up.

"We interrupt this program to bring you a special news report. We have just received word that the last of GeneTech's scientists was apprehended this morning and delivered into Interpol's custody by the faction known as the Underground."

Scott sat up straighter, his eyes intense. Alan spun back around and stepped into the living room. "Dad! Gordon! Virgil! Come see this!"

"Come quick!" Scott added, knowing that the rest of the family would want to see this. He reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

"What's going on?" asked Virgil, stepping into the room, moments later. "It's time to eat."

"Shut up and look at this," Scott ordered, tearing his eyes from the TV to look at his brother. He watched Virgil's expression change from one of mild curiosity to one of grim satisfaction.

"Dr. Peotyr Yurroslavic, the last of GeneTech's scientists still at large is at large no longer. Underground operatives tracked down Yurroslavic to a lab in Southern Mexico this morning and stormed the facility. Yurroslavic was taken alive and it is reported that he was handed over to Interpol by no less a person than the legendary Underground leader John Smith himself. While many have speculated that Smith does not actually exist, and is merely a figurehead or decoy to throw off GeneTech spies, members of the Underground continue to insist that there is such a person, even now that their five year war against GeneTech has come to an end. Here's what one Underground soldier had to say, in the first ever televised interview with a member of the Underground:"

The face of a kid about Alan's age appeared on the screen and a name flashed across the bottom: Daniel Rivers. "Of course he's real. He's the one that shot the hell out of Yurroslav's hand – and the one that put a knife hilt deep in Dr. Greener's right eye. And a bullet between Harding's fourth and fifth vertebrates. And that broke Dr. Skinner's neck with his bare hands. And –"

Gordon snickered from behind the couch, but the laugh was without mirth. The Tracy family had a personal reason for hating GeneTech employees.

"Where is Mr. Smith now, Mr. Rivers?" the reporter interrupted. "Why did he not stick around to finally give the world a face to match with the heroic deeds now that his war is over?"

"That's Smith for you," Rivers said with a shrug.

"Is there any reason you can think of why he wouldn't stick around for an interview?" The reporter sounded skeptical.

Rivers glared at the reporter. "Smith is real. He saved my life in Metropolis – saved the lives of just about everyone in the Underground at one time or another. But he likes his privacy. He always has. As soon as he delivered Doc Yurroslav into Interpol's hands, he turned to us and told us he had someplace else to be. Then he walked away, just like that. If I never see or hear from him again, I won't be surprised, because that's just how Smith is."

"Do you know where he meant when he said that he had someplace else to be?"

Another man stepped into the picture. "Smith's affairs are his own," he said, giving Rivers a meaningful look.

"Yeah," Rivers agreed. He looked at the camera "Hey Smith, if you're watching this, I owe you a drink. Hope to see you again someday and pay up. Good luck, Boss."

"Thanks for everything, John," the other man said, still looking at the camera. "We never could've done this without you." Without another word the two men turned away, ignoring the reporter's protests.

"It's over, then," Jeff Tracy said, his voice hoarse. Scott looked up and was not surprised to see tears in his father's eyes.

"GeneTech is finished," Scott said.

"May they rot in hell," Gordon whispered, his eyes blazing.

Virgil sat down on the sofa beside Scott and buried his face in his hands while Alan chewed on his lip, tear tracks on his cheeks.

The scene on the television switched to footage taken during the day. Clips of Dr. Yurroslavic being led into a police car in chains, despite the fact that his hand was crudely bandaged and his arm in a tourniquet, were played. The man who'd told the reporter that Smith's affairs were his own was caught on camera proposing to a woman of the Underground. Other members of the Underground were interviewed, and a clip showing a man whose face was covered by a gas mask, but was believed to be John Smith, was aired, but Scott barely heard what they said, and doubted many of his family members did either. His mind drifted, as it always did when another GeneTech scientist was apprehended, to the man who'd made the Tracy grudge against GeneTech personal.

They had spoken to John the morning before the disaster that was Metropolis Valley. Had argued . . . Scott would never forgive himself for his last words to his brother.

_"I never want to see you again!"_

Scott would give anything to be able to take them back. He prayed that John had known he didn't mean them. The thought of his sensitive brother dying, thinking that any member of his family never wanted to see him again was more than Scott could stand. And to know that it was all his fault . . .

The doorbell rang.

"What the – ?" Gordon twisted his head to stare in the direction of the door. Scott shared his sentiments. No one ever rang the villa's doorbell . . . In fact, Scott could never remember hearing it before. Ever. They owned the damn island and everyone on it was treated as family. No one ever needed to knock, and no one ever needed to ring the doorbell.

"I'll go see what it is," Tin-Tin volunteered. Scott stared after her as she left the room, then turned back toward the television. The special news report seemed nowhere near finished. Now a play-by-play of the operation used to storm the lab where Yurroslavic was hiding was being shown. Before that, Scott thought he might have heard something about Yurroslavic's hand being nearly taken off by a magnum. It would serve that son of a bitch right. That man, amongst others, had been responsible for the bio-weapons that wiped out an entire city – the bio-weapons that were responsible for his brother's death!

Scott closed his eyes, trying to hold back his tears

"They stopped 'em John," he heard Virgil whispering into his palms. "They'll never hurt anyone else, ever again."

Scott put a hand on his younger brother's shoulder, then changed his mind and pulled Virgil into a hug. It was amazing that after five years this could still hurt so much.

"The State of North Carolina will be unveiling its Metropolis Valley memorial, as planned, in one week. This event will commemorate the five-year anniversary of the Metropolis tragedy, but on a happier note, will celebrate the ultimate demise of GeneTech as well. In attendance will be billionaire Jeff Tracy, who lost a son in the Metropolis Valley disaster. His blank check helped Interpol, the FBI, and Mexican and Canadian police forces bring down GeneTech, though the Underground, the real heroes of this story, are not known to have had any connections to Tracy Enterprises. Also in attendance at the memorial will be Senator Godwin, whose granddaughter survived Metropolis Valley only to be assassinated by a GeneTech strike force, US Secretary of Defense, Mitchell Harson –"

"We're still going, right?" Alan asked suddenly.

"Damn right we are," Gordon answered.

Scott looked up to see his father nodding, which was good. All four surviving Tracy brothers wanted to be at the memorial ceremony. They had never been able to give John a funeral – very few of the skeletons pulled out of Metropolis's ruins had been identified. Most had been blown to pieces. Perhaps the memorial would bring closure for their family . . .

" – and, in light of their complete victory, eight of the top ten Underground members on GeneTech's red list have confirmed that they would be in attendance. Among them are the men and women we have come to know as Andre, Paullo, Jeannie, Melissa, Jane Doe, Jack Trades, and Hernandez, as well as Former Police Chief of Metropolis Valley, Andrew Tarrov. It is rumored that Underground Leader John Smith, GeneTech's most-wanted man, will be attending the memorial, however these rumors are unconfirmed. Further information gathered by our on sight reporters has led us to believe that Mr. Smith, like so many other Underground soldiers, has returned to his family for a long overdue visit, after five years spent isolating himself from them out of necessity."

_It took them three hours of cleaning dust out of the machine and figuring out what cords went where by trial and error before they had the machine up and running. Once they did, John and Scott stared at each other as the opening sequence of the original Resident Evil game flashed across the screen._

_"Why are the graphics all square-like?" Scott asked. "Did we do something wrong?"_

_John frowned and stared at the game's case. "I . . . I think they're supposed to be that way, Scott. Look at the pictures on here."_

_"Who would make pictures look that weird?"_

_"I don't know. Let's just see what happens."_

_It took them almost as long to figure out the controls as it had for them to set up the game system, but after numerous deaths and restarts, many angry shouts, and two cookie breaks, the two oldest Tracy brothers had managed to get past the first monster._

_"John! Scott! Dinner time!" their grandmother called, interrupted their triumphant cheers._

_They turned to each other, crestfallen._

_"Let's just turn off the TV and leave the PS2 on. Then we can come back and play after we eat."_

John's mouth went as dry as cotton as he heard the doorbell ringing within. His stomach tightened, and he was suddenly glad that he had not eaten since an hour before the last strike. If he had, he knew that he would have begun heaving out the contents of his stomach in a nervous fit.

Footsteps approached the door.

Suddenly conscious about his appearance, John straightened the collar of his shirt, hiding his scar as much as he could. He had time to run a hand through his white-blond hair, smoothing it down, before the doorknob began to turn.

_Oh God, I'm going to be sick . . ._

The door opened. A pretty young woman who could only be Tin-Tin was looking at him with confusion on her face. John held his breath as Tin-Tin's confusion melted away to be replaced by awe.

"John?" she whispered, stepping forward. Her eyes were as big as saucers.

John forced himself to speak. "Hi, Tin-Tin . . . Is my family –" he broke off as Tin-Tin threw her arms around him.

"I can't believe it! We all thought you were dead. Wait until your brothers see! And your father! Come on!" Tin-Tin untangled herself from John and grabbed his hand, pulling him into the house. "Come on!" she repeated when John hesitated. She drug him through the hallway, around a corner, past the kitchen, and into the living room, where his father and all four of his brothers were seated around the TV, watching news reports about morning's strike.

John pulled his hand out of Tin-Tin's at the room's threshold, hesitating again. It was suddenly hard to breathe. He needed to speak – but what he would say, he didn't know.

_I can't do this . . ._

It took all of John's will power not to turn around and run back out the open front door, and his will power was diminishing by the second. They hadn't seen him yet . . . there was still time to get out of this!

John had actually taken a step backwards, out of the room when the strained voice of his oldest brother made him freeze.

"Oh my God . . ."

"Oh my God . . ." Scott recognized his brother immediately. He would know John anywhere, no matter how much he'd changed. And he had changed . . . His skin was so pale it was nearly translucent. There was a white scar that ran down the side of his face, from the outer corner of his eye, to his jaw, and another vicious looking mark on his neck. His eyes were sunken and haunted. And he was so painfully _thin_ . . . John looked like a corpse. But he wasn't! He was alive! "Oh my God," Scott repeated and scrambled to his feet. "John!"

He leapt over the back of the sofa. Two bounds brought him to his brother, and the next thing he knew he was holding John crushed against his chest in a bear hug.

"John!" shouted someone else – Virgil, Scott thought.

"You're alive," Scott said, squeezing John as tightly as he could. "I can't believe it. You're alive."

"Scott . . ." John's voice held a world of sorrows. He tentatively returned the hug, then put his hands on Scott's shoulders and put an arm's length of distance between them. Before Scott could speak again, John took a step back and stared beyond his oldest brother. Scott turned his head to see the rest of their family standing, staring at their long lost brother with as much shock and awe as Scott felt.

"Virgil," John croaked. "Gordon. Alan. Father." Before Scott could register what was happening, John dropped to his knees. "Forgive me . . ."

Scott gaped at his brother and glanced at his family. The rest of his brothers, and his fathers were just as speechless as him. "John . . . John, no!" Scott grabbed his brother under the arms and hauled him to his feet. It was painfully easy. "Get up. Don't – oh God, Johnny, you don't know how much we've missed you!" He enveloped his brother in another crushing hug. Alan slammed into them and threw his arms around John as well. Gordon and Virgil followed suite.

"John, how?"

"We thought you were dead!"

"Why did you stay away for so long?"

"We've missed you so much!"

"I'm sorry," John was saying over and over, his voice slightly muffled against Scott's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"Stop saying that!" Scott ordered.

"I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about, John! Nothing!"

"I'm so, so sorry."

"John." One word from their father silenced them all. Jeff Tracy stepped forward and his other sons moved out of his way.

John stared up at his father, fear obvious on his father. "Sir, I –"

Jeff caught his second oldest son in a bear hug of his own and John broke down. His breath started coming in gasps and he spoke around dry sobs. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm sorry!"

Jeff guided John to the sofa and sat down beside him.

"I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"Shhh. John, there's nothing to forgive," Jeff tried to soothe his son.

"I'm so sorry."

"Stop saying that!" Scott said, grabbing John's shoulders and shaking him. "You're our brother! We love you! Please, Johnny, stop it."

That seemed to get through to John. He looked from his father to his oldest brother with huge blue eyes.

"What happened, John?" asked Alan, sitting down at John's feet. "Tell us everything!"

Gordon smacked Alan upside the head.

"You don't have to tell us," said Virgil, glaring daggers at his youngest brother. "We know how difficult –"

"You have a right to know," John said softly. "You have a right to know everything. I will tell you . . ."

"You don't have to John," Scott told him, quickly.

"It will not bother me," said John. "I lived through it. It was hell, but I survived. And if you want to know all that happened, then I want you to know."

There was a moment of silence.

Scott's curiosity and need to know all that happened to his brother struggled with need to take care of John, protect him now that he was back among them. No matter what John said, there was no way that talking about all that had happened wouldn't bother him . . . but maybe he needed to talk about it . . .

"After dinner," Scott decided aloud. "You look like you could use a decent meal. Come on." He helped John to his feet again, resisting the urge to wince at how thin his brother was.

"I'll go tell Onaha to set another place!" Alan said quickly, and bounded on ahead.

Gordon whooped and sprinted after their youngest brother. He caught up quickly and shoved Alan into the wall, pushing past him. "Me first!"

"Gordon you jerk!"

"Can't catch me!"

Then Scott heard a sound that he thought he'd never hear again. He turned toward John to see his brother clutching his sides and laughing. Scott grinned and slung an arm around John's shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

"Glad to be home, little bro?" he asked, feeling as carefree as Gordon and Alan.

John stopped laughing so abruptly that Scott started. He looked at his brother and found John staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. Wildly wondering what he had said wrong, Scott tightened his hold on John and opened his mouth to begin wildly apologizing.

John spoke first. "Home . . ." he whispered and clutched his older brother's arm as though his life depended on it. And then the tears came.

_"That Rebecca girl is so stupid," Scott grumbled._

_"Girls are dumb," John agreed. "Virgil would have had that song dead by now and he's only six!"_

_"If I was Chris Redfield, I'd shoot her to shut her up."_

_"I wouldn't. We don't have that many bullets."_

_"Knife her, then," Scott amended._

_"What are you guys doing?" Virgil asked. "Who's butchering the Moonlight Sonata?"_

_"We're trying to figure out why people are eating each other in this game," John told him._

_"Cool! Can I play?"_

_"No! You're too stupid to play with us!"_

_"Aww, Scott, let him play."_

_"But he can't even read words! Only music."_

_Virgil stared at his big brothers with huge eyes. "Can I watch then? Please?"_

_"I guess . . . but if you scream we'll make you leave!"_

Scott could not remember the last time that the mood at the Tracy dinner table was so light. John's return to them was something that Scott had dreamed about and prayed for, but never thought was actually possible.

No one ate much – they were all too busy talking. Alan and Gordon constantly attempted to talk over one another, both vying for John's attention. Even Virgil started trying to talk over his two younger brothers at one point in the meal. Scott was content to sit silently at John's side though. So much had happened in the past five years that it would be impossible to fill John in over the course of one meal. Having John beside him was enough, for now.

John did not eat much either, Scott noticed. In fact, Scott was not certain that John ate anything at all. He watched his brother accept the smallest possible servings of food he thought he could get away with taking, and saw how John pushed the food around his plate with his fork, but never actually saw him took a bite.

But Scott let it go. There would be time to pressure John into eating later. Right now the last thing he wanted to do was to risk starting an argument. If John walked out of their lives again, Scott didn't think that he could bear it. The look his father gave Scott let him know that Jeff Tracy had noticed as well. Like Scott, his father chose not to comment – this time. He wanted to take care of his son, Scott knew, but to do that he had to make certain that John would be around to be taken care of. They did not yet know how John would react to their concerns.

When dinner was over, the family went back to the living room. The television had been left on, and the news of GeneTech's demise was still being broadcasted. Repeat footage was being played as the family walked back in. John grinned and let out a laugh as he saw the clip of the Underground soldier proposing to his girlfriend.

"Go Andre," he said aloud, seemingly without thinking. He started, then, as every member of his family turned toward him. "Andre and Jeannie," he explained, naming two of the more notorious Underground leaders. "They've been dating since Metropolis. It's about time they got engaged."

"You're friends with them?" Virgil asked, slowly, a shrewd expression on his face.

John nodded absently. "I'm friends with most of the other Metropolis survivors."

"You're John Smith," Virgil accused.

"No way," Gordon laughed. "John, lead the Underground?" He rolled his eyes and turned to grin at John. At the sight of the expression on John's face, Gordon's laughter died away.

"It's true, isn't it?" Alan asked. "John, that is so cool!"

"John?" Jeff asked. The expression on his face was as strange as the one on John's. He seemed to want to hear it from John's own lips. Scott looked hard at his brother and waited for him to speak.

John shrugged. "I couldn't exactly tell people that I was John Tracy. It would've gotten you guys more attention than I would have wanted for you. And it would've . . . would've made it harder for me to get through to the people I was trying to save in Metropolis Valley. I didn't want them to think that I was a soft-handed rich kid with no common sense, so I just said the first name that came to mind . . ."

"John Smith," Gordon grinned raised one eyebrow. "How original."

Virgil elbowed Gordon, but John was actually grinning in return. "That was what made it so perfect. GeneTech suspected it was a pseudonym after they heard about me, of course, but they couldn't prove it one way or the other. Can you imagine them trying to hack into transportation databases, trying to keep tabs on flights and bus rides taken by everyone named John Smith?"

That got a laugh from the entire family.

"I used other aliases. We all had to. Here," John pulled out his wallet and handed it to Scott. "Take a look at these. You and Virgil will get a kick out of them."

Scott opened the wallet and his eyes widened at the number of fake IDs it contained. He began pulling them out and reading them one by one. "Chris Redfield. Leon Scott Kennedy. Barry Burton. William Birkin. Billy Coen. Brian Irons. Albert Wesker. Jack Krauser. Carlos Oliveira. Osmond Saddler. Barry Anderson?" Scott looked up.

"That one doesn't fit . . ." said Virgil

"The Flash," John explained.

"Ah."

"John . . ." Jeff did not look as though he approved of his son having multiple fake IDs.

"It was necessary Dad," John said earnestly, but with a twinkle in his eyes. "We needed handles to set up accounts, access funds, buy . . . needed supplies and transportation. Especially in the early days, right after we escaped Metropolis. There was no other way. We had just majorly screwed GeneTech over didn't know what steps they would take to track us down. It's not like we were underage and using them to buy alcohol . . . except Rivers those first two years, but . . ." John shrugged again.

Jeff sighed. "Of course. You did what you had to."

"Yeah . . ." John's good humor evaporated suddenly. "I did what I had to . . ."

"Stroke of genius, choosing those names though," Scott told him, appreciating the irony.

"No Alfred Ashford?" Virgil asked, his eyes twinkling. "I always thought you looked kind of like him."

"Gee, thanks," John glared at his brother.

Alan and Gordon looked perplexed. They didn't get it, Scott saw. Neither did their father, which was just as well.

"So what all happened, John?" Alan asked. "Tell us everything that happened. And I mean everything!"

"Alan," Gordon hissed.

John smiled. "Then I'll tell you everything. But where to begin?"

"At the beginning!" Alan, Gordon, and Virgil shouted in unison, automatically.

It was Scott's turn to be puzzled, and Virgil noticed his confused look. "John used to tell the best bedtime stories," he explained. "But he always had to be a jerk about starting them, asking where to start the stories and then claiming he can't remember how the story goes for five minutes straight."

"This is one story that I'll never forget," John said darkly, gloom back in his voice once more. "Wish I could, but . . ." He took a deep breath. "It was Friday the 13th, but the day started off fine. No broken mirrors, black cats, or falling ladders. Everything was normal until lunch time. I heard on the radio reports of violent individuals on my way back from lunch. Didn't think much of it. I went home and then started noticing an unusual number of police sirens. In less than three hours everything went to hell.

"I went out to see what I could do to help, but there was nothing that I could do. It was like everyone had gone mad . . . there were mobs of infected people, stumbling around mindless, attacking everyone that they could. There was this four year old girl whose own mother was trying to chew her apart."

John's fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white under the scars covering them . . . well, whiter than the rest of his skin.

"I tried to save her. I didn't know at that time how the infection was spread. I tried to protect her, to get her someplace safe . . . the next thing I knew she was screaming about how hungry she was, calling every zombie on the block to our position. Then the infection spread and took her over completely. She tried to take a bite out of my leather jacket . . . and I left her. I just left her."

"There was nothing that you could have done for her, John," Scott said softly. "You know that."

John nodded absently. "Yeah. I know that. But it doesn't stop me from feeling like there _should_ have been something I could've done, does it? You guys all know . . . you've rescued enough people, and lost enough people . . . She was four years old, and I left her . . . Her name was Abby," he added, looking haunted.

"John . . ."

John shook his head as though clearing it.

"Metropolis Valley was in complete chaos. I met up with some other uninfecteds. We banded together for protection and tried to figure out a way to get out of the city. We stopped in a military surplus store. Lifted some supplies. . ." John pointedly looked away from his father. "We ran into a GeneTech scientist who had been cut loose by his corporation. He decided that he wanted to live and told us all about GeneTech. We went to their facility. I hacked into their mainframe. I got into the system and got what we needed – override codes for the city doors, information on GeneTech scientists, and," John swallowed, "I set the set destruct sequences. I'm the one who blew up Metropolis Valley."

The second oldest Tracy son looked at his family. His expression begged them to understand. "I did everything I could to get any other survivors out of the city. I jacked all the communications systems and sent out a message, telling everyone to get to the North End Gate. I couldn't do anymore . . . and I couldn't leave the city full of bio-weapons. If the infection spread outside of the city . . . So I broadcasted to anyone left alive that they had an hour and thirty minutes to get to the North End, set every public clock as a count down timer, and set the self destruct sequences. And I blew up Metropolis and anyone still alive and holed up in there."

The look on John's face clearly said that he was waiting for someone to get angry or disgusted with him. Waiting for someone to tell him he had done wrong.

"What else could you have done?" Scott asked. "You said it yourself. If the bio-weapons had gotten out of the city . . ."

John closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

"Sometimes doing the right thing is hard," Jeff said. "But you did the right thing John."

A visible weight was removed from John's shoulders. "After that, we went underground – and started the Underground. We've been hunting down GeneTech scientists ever since. I tried to keep things as legal as I could, but . . . it wasn't always possible. The authorities made an effort to look the other way for us, though. The fact that they did kept me out of jail at least twice." He opened his eyes and looked apologetically at Alan. "Too much else happened after that to go into detail. It would take days to get through everything." John drew another deep breath. "I lost a lot of friends. Lear, the GeneTech scientist who turned to our side. Elizabeth Godwin, the senator's daughter. Angelina . . . she reminded me of Jill Valentine, Scott. I remember thinking that you would have been all over her if you were there."

"Who is Jill Valentine?" Alan asked.

John shook his head. Scott managed a weak grin for his brother.

"We were all the most paranoid group of vigilantes ever to exist, I'm sure. That paranoia kept us alive though. GeneTech didn't take our attempts to thwart them laying down. They struck back. One of our own sold us out and a quarter of our number were killed as a result. But this morning, we got the last of them. GeneTech is finished. And I told myself . . ." John swallowed, "I told myself that if it was ever really over, then I'd come home . . . if home was still there."

Jeff put his hands on his second son's shoulders. "Home will always be here," he promised. "Always."

At those words John broke down again. Scott wrapped his arms around his brother and held him as sobs wracked his emaciated body.

_"Take that you stupid Plagas freak!" Scott shouted. "Wooo hoo! You die now, Saddler!"_

_"Hasta luego!" John sang out and watched as Saddler died. "Or maybe not."_

_"Is it over?" Virgil asked from under the blanket that had once covered the couch._

_"He's dead. You can come out now, Virg."_

_Wide chestnut eyes peered out from under the quilt. "Wow . . ."_

_"What? No! That stupid Ada!" Scott growled. _

_"Leon should shoot her down. He's got enough stuff left to take down one helicopter."_

_" . . . She didn't!"_

_"She did! Run!"_

_"Ahhh!" Virgil dove back under the blanket._

_"Go! Go! Go! What are you doing? Leave the money!" John shouted._

_"No way!"_

_"Hurry!"_

_The stream of exclamations continued until the last obstacle had been overcome and the end credits began rolling across the screen._

_"That was the best one yet," Scott said finally, in a more subdued voice as he put down the controller._

_"Yeah, the best one yet," Virgil agreed, venturing out from his shelter._

_"I don't know . . . this one wasn't that scary," said John. "I think that the first and second ones –"_

_"No, this one was the best yet," Virgil insisted._

_"How do you know? You never watched them. All you did was hide under your blanket like a chicken!" John huffed._

_"I did not!"_

_"Yes you did!"_

_"Did not!"_

_"Did too! Chicken!"_

_"Just wait 'til Dad comes home tonight! I'm gonna tell him what you said!" Virgil threatened._

_"Then you'll be a tattle-tale as well as a chicken!" John screamed._

_"Enough, you guys," Scott said. He stood and stretched. "I think I still liked this one best, even if it wasn't as scary. The monster were just so cool."_

_"I kinda missed the zombies," John said, standing as well. He reached down one hand and pulled Virgil to his feet. "Somehow it just wasn't the same with parasite controlled peasants. It was still evil, but it just didn't seem resident enough."_

_"What do you mean?" Scott asked. "What does resident mean anyway?"_

_"Yeah, what's resident mean?"_

_John looked surprised. "We've been playing these games since summer vacation started and you never knew why they were called Resident Evil?"_

_"I don't read the dictionary for fun," Scott said, irritably._

_"Resident mean . . . well it's derived from 'reside' which means to stay or live in, but . . . it's more than that. It's like . . . Well, overall, the game's name means evil that is too close to home. That's what made the first two so scary – the idea that that kind of evil could happen in your own neighborhood, to you or someone you know. Don't worry, Virgil, it can't happen," John said quickly, heading off his younger brother's tears of fear. "Just the idea that it could is scary. So, yeah. Resident Evil."_

Scott lay in bed for an hour after their father had ordered everyone to bed. No matter what he did, he could not seem to keep his eyes closed. His excitement over the evening's events would not let him sleep. He strained his ears, hoping to hear one of his brothers getting up for a midnight kitchen raid so that he'd have an excuse to get up . . . and so he'd have some company.

But all remained quiet in the Tracy villa. Not one door squeaked open, not one bare foot padded against the floor. At last, Scott could bear it no longer. He rolled out of bed, pulled on a T-shirt, and slipped out into the hall.

He paused in front of John's closed door and considered checking to see if his brother was still awake. In the end he decided against it. He didn't want to risk waking John – his brother needed all the sleep he could get. So Scott went down to the kitchen alone, but to his surprise there was already someone down there.

"Couldn't sleep?" John asked, when Scott entered the room. He had a glass bowl of water with two wash cloths in it and was wringing out a third.

"Too excited to sleep," Scott answered. "I was waiting for one of you guys to get up so I'd have company. I didn't hear you come down."

John pulled at the neckline of his shirt and placed the wash cloth over a nasty looking scar at the base of his neck. "You wouldn't have," he answered absently.

"Hmph, why's that?" Scott asked, moving toward the refrigerator. He didn't miss the look of mild surprise that crossed John's face.

"Oh. I didn't mean anything by that. Just . . . I was trying to be quiet so I wouldn't wake anyone – and I had a few on the fly lessons in stealth."

"Oh. Yeah." Scott pulled two beers out of the fridge and put one down in front of John. "You couldn't sleep either?"

"Thank you. And no."

"Everything okay?" Scott felt like wincing even as the words left his mouth. Everything obviously wasn't okay – after all that John had been through, Scott wondered if his brother would ever be okay again.

"As okay as everything can be," John said as though he'd read Scott's mind.

Scott rummaged through a drawer and found a bottle opener. He popped the cap off of his beer and turned back to John just in time to see his brother finish prying the top off his bottle with his teeth.

"Sorry. Habit," said John, seeing the horrified look on Scott's face.

"Hey guys, mind if I join you?" Virgil asked from the door.

"Hey Virg. Couldn't sleep either?"

"Nope. Too excited to sleep. What's this?" The middle Tracy brother gestured toward John's water bowl and cloths.

"For my scar," John explained. "It bothers me sometimes. Warm compresses help."

Virgil helped himself to a beer and sat down to drink with his brothers. They lapsed into a comfortable silence. John was the one to break it, with a sigh and a half-hearted laugh. "You remember the summer we found that old gaming system in Grandma's attic?"

"And how long it took us to get it to work?" Scott reminisced.

"And how we played those old Resident Evil games all summer?" Virgil put in, a vague smile on his face.

"We? _You_ hid under the couch cover whenever we turned that PS2 on!" Scott reminded him.

"Yeah, well I watched, didn't I?"

"No," Scott and John said in unison.

"Yes I did! Through the holes in the blanket," Virgil insisted.

"Chicken," John teased, but gently, without any malice. Then he sighed, the warmth gone from his face.

"How bad was it, John?" Scott asked. He reached out to touch his brother's arm.

"It was . . . it was hell," John said, his voice breaking. "I know you saw the news coverage, but that doesn't even come close to what it was like. Metropolis Valley reminded me of Raccoon City. Everywhere I looked there was death . . . people I wanted to save but couldn't . . . people who were beyond saving. I saw so much pain and destruction, I just wanted to die so I wouldn't have to stand it anymore.

"But I lived. I don't know why, why I lived when so many others died. That of the tens of thousands of people who were in the city, I was one of the forty-three to survive. There have been so many times I've thought that I should be dead . . ."

"Don't say that, Johnny," whispered Scott.

John shook his head. "I'm sorry. I just . . ." He looked at his brothers and managed a shaky smile. "A lot of times the only thing that kept me going was the knowledge that if I gave up then I wouldn't be able to save anyone, and I'd be letting my family down again."

"You never let us down," Virgil said emphatically. "Never."

John sighed again and looked back and forth between his brothers. "I really missed you guys. There were times when I'd wish that one of you was there with me."

"We would have been if we could, John."

John's smile was strangely sad. "Sometimes I thought that if one of you was with me, we could have taken down GeneTech, just the two of us. But when it's all said and done, I'm glad that it was just me. I wouldn't have wanted any of you to go through what I did. It wasn't like the video games, except for the devastation . . . and that cold feeling that creeps into your spine when everything you've seen starts to get to you. I think that the worst part of it is that you know everything you're seeing is real, and that you're never going to be able to look at life the same way again. The desperation, the terror, and that cold feeling are all there to stay like . . . like some kind of resident evil."


End file.
